


To Own the Prince of Gotham

by QueerQuaking



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Based on s3x14, Bloodplay, Blowjobs, Captive Situations, Knifeplay, M/M, Oral Sex, Ownership, Possession, Possessive Behavior, Smut, slight oral fixation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 11:30:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17559563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueerQuaking/pseuds/QueerQuaking
Summary: "Anyone can kill the prince of Gotham…” He trailed off, beginning to suck a light purple bruise into the spot that he had chosen. Bruce had never experienced anything akin to this, but he found that he didn’t want it to stop.Jerome finished his hickey, the mark standing out against light skin. “But not everyone can own the prince of Gotham.”Based (not quite) loosely on s3x14





	To Own the Prince of Gotham

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting unedited for roughly a month... Whoops.
> 
> Basically, this was my way with coping with Jerome's death. Sorry.

Bruce had just wanted a nice day at the circus. Was that honestly too much to ask for? Apparently so. 

He currently stood flush against an uncomfortably splintering wooden pole; his wrists were firmly pinned together and tied tightly above his head. Of course, the one day he decided to attend something for his own enjoyment it would be taken over by homicidal maniacs. Just his luck. The only optimistic thought he possessed was that no one he was close to was present to experience this alongside him. 

A quiet sigh escaped his lips as he watched an overly-enthusiastic redhead flit across the stage they were both positioned upon. Bruce didn’t care to listen to the words being spoken, instead watching the mannerisms in hopes of finding some possible way to escape this detestable situation. The redhead seemed hyperactive at the very least, erratically jumping around, bowing and cackling at irregular intervals. Still, the crowd that had gathered seemed to be completely enthralled by him. 

Bruce was quickly torn from his thoughts as a glinting object flew directly beside his face, sticking in the wooden pole only centimeters from his neck. He gasped quietly, his attention snapping to focus on his captor’s face. He was laughing softly; a low, rough sound that sounded less like laughter and more like death itself. Bruce glared up at him, and the redhead finally ceased his cackling, though a smile was still plastered on mangled face. 

He left the spotlight to self-assuredly stride to Bruce, the smile morphing into a firmly-planted smirk that tugged the corner of his mouth. He leaned in close, uncomfortably so, and his scarred lips brushed lightly against the shell of the younger male’s ear. A barely-audible nervous whimper escaped Bruce’s throat before he could even consider stopping it, and he felt his face heat up in embarrassment. A breathy chuckle sounded in Bruce’s ear, audible only to him, and the warm puffs of air against his neck and ear made a small shiver trail down his spine. He should have been disgusted by the man being in such close proximity of him. He wasn’t, and that thought was possibly more frightening than the knife that was currently wedged in the wood next to him. 

“Next time, I won’t miss.” The slightly-taller male said in a low, quiet tone. 

Bruce noted that his voice was almost unnaturally rough, even in a whisper. He nodded obediently, contrary to the fact that he was still glaring up at him. The redhead smiled, and Bruce noticed belatedly how the corners of his lips up-turned into a gapingly-wide crescent. He ruffled the brunette’s hair, tousling strands that used to be precisely groomed and perfectly styled into an upswept mess. The former spun away as quickly as he had come, standing center stage once again to address the audience with open arms and a charismatic grin. 

“Wha’dya say we get this show goin’?” He asked in a loud, carrying voice. His question was taken quite well by the crowd, loud clapping, shouting, chortling, and chanting filling the air. 

He smirked and bowed exaggeratedly, one of his arms doing a sort of sweeping gesture as he absolutely basked in the attention of his followers. Bruce couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to the rest of the families that had been roaming the fairgrounds; when the maniacs had taken over, everyone had seemed to disappear but the cult members. He watched as the redhead kept addressing the crowd, a large cannon eventually being wheeled out from behind closed curtains. The audience went wild at that, one man standing out from the rest.

“Kill him already! Kill him! Kill him now!” The man cackled and chanted, grinning wildly through his demands. The redhead’s face darkened, his grin falling to a pissed-off smirk. 

“You. On stage.” He addressed the man, waving him toward the spotlight. 

The man obviously came up, expecting his idol to praise him for his enthusiasm. Instead, as soon as the man entered the spotlight, a sharp knife was drug roughly through his throat. 

“I’ll kill him when I damn well please.” The cult leader growled lowly, removing the knife with a flourish. Specks of blood flew in multiple directions, thinly coating the poorly-polished wood of the stage. The redhead simply watched with no humor, yet still surrounded by an aura of contented delight, as the life and hilarity drained from the man’s eyes. 

“Get him off my stage.” He said with a now friendly chuckle (Bruce couldn’t help but notice that this man’s emotions seemed to shift extraordinarily quickly), addressing a big man with dyed hair and intense clown makeup. The man nodded silently, dragging the rapidly-cooling body of the interruption from the stage. 

“Anywho... “ He started, changing focus and directing his attention back to his captive and the cannon that was less than a foot away from him. “Let’s end this show with a bang… Or should I say a boom?” He grinned wickedly, and the crowd began chanting Boom! Boom! Boom! as the redhead cackled.

Bruce couldn’t help but be afraid, still trying to formulate an escape plan. This man seemed possessive; as shown when he killed the follower that demanded Bruce’s death. He might be able to work with that. 

“Excuse me.” Bruce finally spoke, trying for a strong, steady tone of voice, and mostly succeeding. 

The cult leader’s head turned, and he took a few menacing steps towards Bruce, ending up about six inches from him. 

“What?” He hissed, looking irked at being interrupted again. 

“Killing me here… Don’t you think it’s a bit too accessible?” He questioned, knowing that it was a long-shot. His captor obviously loved being open and in the center of attention. 

“Not really, but I’m listening.” He smirked.

“Well, shouldn’t my murder be more intimate? Why kill me quickly here when you could have more fun with it and take your time elsewhere?” Bruce really was grasping for straws at this point, but at least the other man seemed to consider it for a brief moment. 

“Eh, that would be boring. Any last words, Brucie?” He drawled, and Bruce felt his hope of escaping deflate. 

Bruce said nothing, instead pondering how the redhead knew his name. Bruce had assumed that the attack was random… Apparently, that wasn’t so. He watched as the man filled the cannon with long knives and various sharp implements, monologuing to the crowd the entire time. Bruce had to admit that his energy was contagious, and if he wasn’t the one that was about to be stabbed by hundreds of knives, he would probably be cheering too. 

The cult leader lit the fuse, and the crowd watched in anticipation as the rope burned quickly towards Bruce’s doom. Bruce, unlike the crowd, kept his eyes trained firmly on his captor. About ten seconds before the cannon was going to fire, Bruce watched the redhead nod discreetly to the big man from earlier. He could only wonder what they were up to for a split second, before the ferris wheel a short distance away was engulfed in flames. 

Gasps rang out through the crowd, and they all turned to watch the spectacle. At that exact moment, the organizer of this entire ordeal was ripping the knife from beside Bruce’s neck, and cutting the ropes binding Bruce’s wrists. He quickly tugged Bruce away, through the gap in the curtains behind them. Flames crackled loudly, only to be outdone by the resonance of the cannon firing. Many bladed utensils embedded into the wooden pole, others sailing far past through the air, hitting a few unfortunate cultists. 

Bruce stumbled as the other man pulled him roughly across the shadowed fairground. The latter’s cackles were drowned out by the chaos, and a few people were already noticing their absences. Roaring, sizzling, laughing, and screaming filled the night as the redhead pulled the brunette out of the wrought-iron gate, and into an awaiting van. He opened the spacious back, getting in next to Bruce, and signaling one of his henchmen to drive. The van door swung shut, effectively trapping Bruce again, and he wasn’t sure whether he should be relieved or not. 

“Who are you? What is all of this about?” Bruce questioned heatedly as the van started. When it started moving, he stumbled over some unseen object, and fell unceremoniously to the floor. The other man seemed to find that hilarious, as gasping, slightly wheezing chuckles were quickly the only sound in the van beside the rumbling of the engine. He gracefully took a seat perhaps too closely to Bruce, casually rumpling the billionaire’s hair again. If Bruce could bounce back from this, his hair still almost certainly couldn’t. 

“I’m hurt, Brucie. To think that my favorite volunteer would forget about me.” Was all he said after a brief pause, mocking sarcasm dripping into his tone.

Bruce gasped, finally recalling where he’d met the man at. He supposed that he should have put it together much sooner; then again, the redhead was also supposed to be dead, and his face definitely was not as mutilated all those months ago.

“Jerome.” He growled bitterly, his voice finally showing a vague note of recognition.

“Aww, so you do remember me.” Jerome chuckled, leaning slightly closer. 

“Where are we going?” Bruce demanded, having no patience for this. Maybe it would have been better to have gotten shredded back at the circus after all. 

Jerome smirked and crawled closer to Bruce, lining his lips up directly beside Bruce’s ear. 

“That’s a surprise.” He whispered.

They hit a bump before he could pull away, and his marred skin brushed against Bruce’s ear. His lips caught on the younger boy’s earlobe, and Bruce felt his own face heat up at the feeling of Jerome gasping slightly in surprise. The warm, moist breath tickled his ear, and he shook at the feeling of Jerome’s lips gently closing around his earlobe before he pulled away. Bruce took a shaky breath, trying to calm his rapid heartbeat. He couldn’t help but think that the action had felt way too acceptable given the circumstances. 

Jerome himself also didn’t seem to know what to do, until settling on smirking. 

“You’re blushing, Brucie.” He teased, a quiet laugh falling from his lips. “If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought that you enjoyed that.” 

Bruce rolled his eyes, saying nothing and staring blankly into the barely-lit interior of the van. It was pretty dark outside by now, and Bruce could barely make out the shapes around him. He was torn from his observing by a hand roughly grasping his chin. 

“I was talking to you, y’know.” Jerome taunted, and Bruce gulped at the once again close proximity. 

“Sorry.” Bruce mumbled dryly, quickly becoming glad that he didn’t say more than that when Jerome started caressing his cheek. He wasn’t sure that he would have been able to get the words out as his heart rate picked up again.

Jerome seemed to take sadistic pleasure in Bruce’s flustered state; as he soon moved his other arm up to rub his thumb in circles along Bruce’s hipbone. He leaned closer to Bruce, taking in his pink-stained cheeks, and slightly-blown pupils. He placed a gentle kiss to the side of Bruce’s neck, his mouth lingering. 

“Apology accepted.” He mumbled, his warm breath doing things to Bruce that he would never admit, not even in the safety of his own mind. “D’ya wanna know why I spared you?” Jerome asked, trailing his heavily scarred and slightly chapped lips up to the sensitive spot directly below Bruce’s earlobe. 

“Y-yes.” Bruce gasped, his voice cracking nervously in the middle of the single syllable. 

Bruce felt the redhead’s smile against his pale, sensitive skin. He felt Jerome’s tongue gently trace along the pressure point, and he couldn’t hold in the quiet whine that resulted. 

“I decided that it would be much more fun to keep you. Anyone can kill the prince of Gotham…” He trailed off, beginning to suck a light purple bruise into the spot that he had chosen. Bruce had never experienced anything akin to this, but he found that he didn’t want it to stop. 

Jerome finished his hickey, the mark standing out against light skin. “But not everyone can own the prince of Gotham.”

Bruce whimpered again, and if he was in the right mind, he would have been ashamed about how much the words turned him on. 

“So, wha’dya say, darli’n?” Jerome chose that exact moment to sink his teeth into Bruce’s earlobe, his tongue swirling around the reddening skin. 

“Ah! Please!” Bruce gasped, his back arching slightly from the attention. 

He felt like he was on fire, shivers of pleasure shooting up and down his spine rapidly and making his skin tingle. His expensive jeans felt uncomfortably tight, and he desperately wished to be rid of his too-warm clothing. 

“Good boy.” Jerome mumbled quietly, nipping down to the collar of Bruce’s turtleneck that he always seemed to wear. 

A quiet swish and click resounded in rapid succession, and suddenly there was the cold metal of a blade against Bruce’s neck. Bruce should have been afraid. Normally he would have been. Right now, though, he couldn’t help the waves of arousal at the danger that the knife presented. He tilted his neck upwards, giving Jerome access to do as he pleased with the blade. Another bump caused the sharp edge to dig into Bruce’s skin, the skin splitting easily. The cut was shallow, but a few drops of blood still seeped onto the silver surface of the knife. 

Jerome eyed the crimson droplets with a hungry gaze, and he flipped the knife so he could press the flat edge directly under the cut. The blood pooled on the metallic surface, slowing its flow disappointingly fast. When Jerome was certain that no more blood would spill out, he carefully brought the knife to his lips. He made sure not to spill a drop, and when the metal was within his reach, he flicked his tongue out for an experimental taste. Bruce watched with rapt interest as the maniac’s eyelids fluttered and a low groan left his lips. In one swift movement, the tip of the blade had breached his lips, and he was enthusiastically licking the crimson from the weapon. His movements were quick but calculated, and he was careful not to slice his cheeks or tongue with the razor-sharp blade. 

Bruce had to admit that it was a sight to behold as a wave of arousal again traveled straight to his groin. Jerome looked almost desperate for Bruce’s blood, and he had to admit that it was a hot thought. Jerome growled when the metallic taste no longer lingered on the blade, and he dropped it carelessly to the ground. He instead jolted towards Bruce’s neck again, accidentally forcing him back against the van floor. He didn’t get back up, instead shifting to hover above him. 

“‘Never tried blue blood before. I have to say, it’s exquisite.” Jerome breathed, again going for Bruce’s neck. He licked the cut, his rough lips occasionally brushing the skin in a maddening way. The brunette arched beneath him, a whiny moan leaving his lips. Bruce daringly reached up to grasp Jerome’s hips. He tugged on the layer of clothing in his way, untucking Jerome’s shirt and exploring the muscled sweep of his hips and abdominals with his fingertips. That seemed to spur Jerome on; he began kissing down Bruce’s neck again, before frowning at the sweater that sat solidly in his way.

He collected his temporarily forgotten knife from the floor, tugging on the collar of Bruce’s turtleneck before cutting all the way down in one swift movement. The tip of the knife occasionally brushed against Bruce’s skin, but he wasn’t cut, which was quite surprising. Soon the sweater was open like a jacket, and Jerome was trailing his lips down the smooth expanse of Bruce’s chest. He stopped at a pink nipple, nipping it harshly and watching in lewd fascination as it hardened quickly beneath his mouth. He sucked on the nub gently, loving the sounds the actions pulled from Bruce’s lips. Jerome nipped it one last time, before heading further down. 

Jerome reached the flat-yet-toned expanse of Bruce’s stomach next, and he also littered it with kisses, nips, and hickies. Eventually, after taking his sweet time, Jerome reached Bruce’s right hip bone. He sadistically sunk his teeth into the bone, and was surprised at the loud whine that Bruce made. His back arched completely off of the ground, and the rough material of Bruce’s jeans hit just below Jerome’s neck. Bruce moaned desperately at the friction the action supplied, using all of his willpower not to grind back up again. Jerome took a moment to appreciate how he could completely see the tent in Bruce’s jeans from this angle, and how a barely-noticeable wet patch was forming in the dark material.

“Mm, sensitive here?” Jerome asked quietly, knowingly. 

A strangled sound was his only response, and he switched to the other side, biting the left side of his hips. Bruce’s back arched again, and Jerome felt the wet patch of Bruce’s precum smear against his neck. 

“Fuck. You’re so pretty, Bruce.” He breathed, licking the indentations from his teeth.

Jerome decided to stop wasting time, quickly unbuttoning and unzipping Bruce’s pants. He pulled them down to his calves in a smooth movement, and eyed the now more prominent bulge through Bruce’s black silk boxers. He experimentally licked over the moist area, the acquired taste of precum coating his taste buds. Bruce made another beautiful whining noise and thrusted up towards Jerome’s tongue slightly. Jerome could feel how painfully hard the younger boy was, and couldn’t help his low chuckle. He shifted to bite the waistband of the expensive boxers, and tugged them down with only his teeth. 

The cooler air of the inside of the van hit Bruce’s erection, and he gasped at the feeling. Jerome finished tugging the final piece of clothing down to rest with the jeans at Bruce’s lower legs. Jerome took in the work of artistry before him, eyes roaming hungrily over his fully-exposed figure. Bruce’s cock was averagely-sized, maybe a bit larger; around six to six-and-a-half inches when so painfully erect. His thighs quivered slightly in anticipation, the pale, creamy skin completely unmarred. Oh, how Jerome would love to carve his signature smiley-face into those thighs. Maybe when they reach their destination. 

Jerome stared at the flushed head of Bruce’s arousal, eyeing the glistening tip hungrily. He carefully wrapped a hand around the base tugging upwards. He was rewarded by a muffled whimper, a jerk of hips, and a rolling bead of precum falling from the slit. He chuckled, leaning forward to catch the droplet with his tongue. Apparently, Bruce’s blood wasn’t the only thing that tasted amazing. Though Jerome had always had sort of an oral fixation, he hadn’t ever wanted to taste someone as much as he had at that moment. He all but jerked forward, his lips encircling the flushed head, and another string of precum rewarded his efforts. 

Bruce looked absolutely gone beneath him: his eyes were squeezed shut, his lips parted to pant heavily through the waves of pleasure coursing through his veins. Jerome began taking more of his cock into his mouth, feeling it hit the back of his throat obscenely. He was so lucky that he had no gag reflex. Bruce’s hips jerked weakly, his erection slipping half of an inch further into Jerome’s mouth. Jerome smirked through it, not minding in the slightest. He pulled completely off of him, kissing the flushed tip before slamming back down. Bruce’s cock slipped back down his throat, and Bruce almost screamed.

“Oh my god, Jerome!” He moaned out, his head thrown back as he canted his hips upwards to shallowly thrust into Jerome’s throat. “More, please!” He whined, already painfully close. 

Jerome continued bobbing his head, sucking lewdly on the tip before swirling his tongue and going back down. Bruce’s cock was drooling heavily onto his tongue, and the taste was better than anyone else he had ever had. Jerome reached around Bruce to hoist his thighs over his broad shoulders. The new angle gave him better access to take Bruce all the way to the base, and he took full advantage of that. 

Bruce’s moans got progressively higher, louder, and more frequent. Jerome was quite happy he had a soundproof divider added to the van; he didn’t want anyone else to ever hear his prince like this. Jerome grabbed a harsh handful of Bruce’s ass with one hand, reaching for the knife again as he increased his pace. He held the cold metal to Bruce’s beautiful throat again, the edge not pressing hard enough to part skin again but only as a dangerous reminder. He began working just the top half of Bruce’s erection, moving his hand from Bruce’s ass back to his cock to quickly work the bottom half. 

Bruce’s thrusts got erratic, his moans acquiring a desperate, needy note as he feverishly sought more friction inside of Jerome’s mouth. Bruce’s thighs and abdominals began quivering harshly, and Jerome slowed his pace to long, hard strokes, sucking harshly, but without urgency. The slowed pace caused Bruce to tip over the edge more intensely, the orgasm ripping through him better than he had ever had prior. He thrusted upwards through the pleasure, the rushing in his ears overriding his own voice, and he was nearly shouting Jerome’s name as he came in long, thick ropes into Jerome’s mouth. His orgasm lasted for nearly a minute as Jerome avidly swallowed down everything that the boy had to offer. His shouts got progressively more quiet, slowing into whimpers as sweet oversensitivity began to overtake the gratification. As much as he didn’t want to, Jerome pulled away at that moment, licking his lips contentedly while swallowing the last of Bruce’s cum. 

Jerome moved upwards as Bruce’s eyes slowly fluttered open, and he finally met Bruce’s lips in a heated kiss. Bruce was completely pliant, though a few quiet sounds and sighs were swallowed up by Jerome as he entangled their tongues. After a moment, he pulled away from Bruce so the younger could catch his breath, and sat up next to him. Bruce also tried to sit up, completely exhausted, but taking in the very obvious bulge in Jerome’s loose, white pants. Bruce moved to palm over Jerome’s erection, but he shifted away from the touch slightly. 

“Don’t worry about it, darli’n, get some sleep, we’ll be there soon.” Jerome said with an uncharacteristically gentle smile. 

Bruce looked like he wanted to argue, but overall the exhaustion won, and he laid back down, resting his head against Jerome’s thigh. Jerome smiled again and began carding his fingers through Bruce’s soft- though slightly damp in certain areas- brunette locks. Bruce let out what Jerome considered to be an absolutely adorable contented sigh and leaned into his touch. Within a few minutes, Bruce’s breathing had evened out, and Jerome was left with the silence and an erection that would hopefully go down soon. Still, he laughed quietly to himself as he decided that he had chosen the perfect new pet.


End file.
